The Art of Drowning
by Leah In The Sky With Duct Tape
Summary: Something's seriously wrong with Potsie, and if Richie (and others) don't figure it out soon, it may be too late... Chapter 2 up...chapter 3 coming soon!
1. now, i know there's something wrong

The Art of Drowning  
  
Potsie stared out his window. It wasn't like he had a great view, in fact all he saw was the side of his neighbor's house from his second-story bedroom. But he wasn't really looking at anything, just staring and trying his best not to think. If he started to think, he started to feel, and emotion wasn't on his side lately.  
  
So in order to avoid such a pesky thing as thought, he stared at the bricks on his neighbor's house. And it almost worked. The problem was, as soon as he got his mind good and blank, one little thought would worm itself into his mind without his consent.  
  
He was in the process of emptying his head when he heard his name being shouted.  
  
"WARREN!" It was his father. He subconsciously bit his lip. This could be bad…  
  
"TELEPHONE!" Potsie relaxed. He hadn't heard the phone ring. Just a phone call. He wondered whether or not he should answer it, then decided, hey, if worse comes to worse he could always hang up. He reached for his phone and picked up the receiver.  
  
"Yeah?" He said flatly.  
  
"Potsie, it's me," Richie said.  
  
"Oh. Hi Rich."  
  
"Listen, Potsie. I've talked to Fonzie-"  
  
Potsie hung up.  
  
Even if it was his best friend calling, he didn't want to hear about Fonzie. At all. He'd just spent the better part of an hour trying not to think about him, and boom, his own best friend throws it in his face.  
  
The phone rang, just as he knew it would. He also knew it was Richie, but he picked it up anyway. "Yeah." he answered.  
  
"Potsie, don't do that! You need to hear this, okay? Trust me. Promise you won't hang up again?"  
  
"No, but I'll try not to,"  
  
A pause. "Okay, fine. Listen. I talked to Fonzie, and he feels bad for what he said earlier."  
  
Potsie scoffed.  
  
"No, really Potsie." Richie always believed everything Fonzie said, Potsie thought. Richie pressed on. "He was just upset, you know, with everything that happened with his bike, and then what you said just pushed him over the edge."  
  
"Okay, whatever."  
  
"Potsie! That's almost an apology! And you know Fonzie hates saying he's sorry."  
  
"Well, maybe that's his problem, huh? Maybe he needs to get over himself. He's always been vain and self-centered, and I'm sick of it. I'm sick of him treating me like I'm subhuman, like I'm not up to his level. And his ego is inflated partially because people like you are always sucking up to him! Oh Fonzie, you're so cool! You're the best, Fonzie! I can always count on you, Fonzie! Just because I said what I really thought, all of a sudden I'm a lowlife? Fuck that, Richie."  
  
Silence. "Potsie-" Richie started, stunned.  
  
Potsie hung up once again. This time the phone didn't ring.  
  
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Richie held the phone to his ear for a good thirty seconds after Potsie hung up. Then he hung up the phone and sighed. For the past month, Potsie had been a little quieter than normal, more short tempered. And this whole thing with Fonzie yesterday, that just made it worse. Potsie had become moody, prone to snap without apology. And the worst part about it, to Richie, was that he couldn't figure out how to help him.  
  
Yesterday, the gang had been at Arnold's, talking like normal. Fonzie had walked up to them and joined in the conversation for a little, then changed the conversation to his bike, which had been hit by a guy in a truck on accident. It totaled the bike, and Fonzie had been obsessed with it since it happened.  
  
Potsie had already been in a bad mood, and he snapped, "Hey, will you stop talking about your stupid bike? It's all you talk about anymore and I'm sick of hearing about it!"  
  
Well, of course Fonzie didn't take that well.  
  
He started shouting at Potsie, telling him off. He said that Potsie should just shut up, because he was and always had been nothing but a nerd, asked who Potsie thought he was to talk like that, told him that he was sick of Potsie always butting in when he wasn't wanted, that he should just leave because no one liked him anyway, etc. Through it all, Potsie had just stared at Fonzie, no emotion detectable on his face. Everyone in Arnolds had shut up and listened to the entire thing.  
  
It fell silent after Fonzie stopped yelling. Everyone was staring. After a moment, Potsie looked away from the Fonz, stood up and walked out. By the time Richie found his voice, Potsie was already at the door. Richie stood up, threw Fonzie a dirty look, and ran out after his friend.  
  
Potsie didn't say a word, just walked toward his house. Richie tried to talk to him, but Potsie ignored him completely until Richie gave up and walked back to Arnold's to talk to Fonzie. When he got there, Fonzie was gone, but Ralph was still there, staring. Everyone was talking hurriedly about what had just happened.  
  
Richie walked over to Ralph and asked him what happened. Ralph told him that he asked Fonzie just what the hell he did that for, and the Fonz had just walked out, saying only that Potsie deserved it.  
  
Tracking down Fonzie wasn't hard. He was at the garage. That's when Richie had his talk with Fonzie, sticking up for Potsie, saying that it had been wrong of Fonzie to say those things. If it had been anyone else, Fonzie would have told him to beat it, but Richie had a way of talking to people so that they saw his side, too. He had a way with words. And that's what made Fonzie admit that he really hadn't meant what he'd said and that he knew that he shouldn't have done it.  
  
Richie had been content with that, thinking that this whole matter was almost done with. He thought that he would just call Potsie and tell him what Fonzie had said, maybe even convince Fonzie to tell Potsie himself, and that everyone would live happily ever after. But he hadn't taken into account Potsie's change in personality as of late.  
  
Richie now wondered just how much it had hurt Potsie. Sure, no one liked hearing people say bad things about them, but Potsie had also been hypersensitive lately. Richie laid down on his bed, feeling defeated and hurt. He felt like there must be something seriously wrong here, but he just couldn't figure it out.  
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Potsie felt bad about yelling at Richie, but he wasn't about to call him and tell him that. Fonzie just made him so angry. What right did he have, speaking to him that way? To tell him he was nothing? To make it seem like he, Potsie, was the one in the wrong for speaking his mind? Potsie gritted his teeth. At that moment, he would have liked nothing more than to sock Fonzie right in the face, but Fonzie wasn't there, so he lashed out and hit his lamp as hard as he could, smashing it against the wall.  
  
The lamp shattered around Potsie's fist. Potsie sighed, regretting his action, then looked at his hand. It was bloody around his knuckles, but he felt no real pain, just relief. He blinked. Picking up a piece of the porcelain, he sliced into the inside of his hand. Instantly, he got the same feeling, the strange relieved feeling. The blood spilled out onto his palm a bit, and Potsie did it again, this time on the inside of his wrist. More blood, more relief.  
  
Then on his wrist, not very deep, just deep enough to bleed a bit, and he smiled a little. This was an interesting development.  
  
And then he did it again.  
  
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The end…..of chapter one.  
So… what do you think so far? I tried not to make Fonzie seem like a horrible guy, just that he lost his temper. And I think I have a plot etched out… I'll just have to type it as it comes to me. Hope you like it.  
  
Review and I'll give you a cookie.  
  
-leah- 


	2. but you won't tell me all of the problem

The Art of Drowning….chapter two.  
  
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Richie poked his potatoes with his fork. It had been almost a week since his phone call to Potsie, and Richie couldn't get a hold of his friend. He sighed quietly, and his mother looked up at him questioningly.  
  
"Richie, dear, what's the matter? You've barely touched your dinner!"  
  
"I'm sorry, Mom, I'm just not very hungry, I guess…" Richie gave a half-hearted smile to his family that was seated around him at the dinner table.  
  
"Richie, what's going on lately? You've been quiet lately," Howard Cunningham inquired.  
  
"Well…it's just that Potsie is ignoring me and everyone else, and I don't know why." Richie suddenly wondered if he should have told his family. He wished he hadn't spoken. He wanted to be able to deal with this himself, not to be dependent on his family for everything. 'Well,' he thought, 'too late now.'  
  
"Potsie? Ignoring everyone? Usually it's the other way around," Joanie said. Richie shot her a dirty look, and she frowned. "Sheesh. Just joking, that's all."  
  
"Well, Richard, do you think it's serious?" His father took a drink of water and looked across the table at Richie.  
  
Richie shook his head. "No…it's okay. Really. I'll just go over to his house after dinner and straighten it all out."  
  
His mother glanced at the clock. "Well, if you're going to go, you should go soon, it's getting late."  
  
"You can go after you're done with dinner." Howard told him.  
  
"I'm done, can I go now?" Richie said, eager to see his friend.  
  
Howard sighed. "Yes, Richard. Go ahead. Just don't be too late."  
  
"Don't worry, Dad, I won't be. Bye!" Richie stood up, and walked quickly out the door.  
  
On the way to his friend's house, he kicked rocks, wondering what he was going to say. Maybe he should invite him to spend the night. 'I guess I'd have to get him to talk to me first,' he thought as he kicked a particularly big rock. He looked up. He'd gotten there faster than he'd thought. He walked up their driveway and towards their door. Suddenly he stopped. He heard yelling. It sounded like Mr. Webber, yelling at Potsie about something, Richie couldn't tell what. He listened, and he heard Mrs. Webber yelling at her husband to stop. There was some stomping, most likely Potsie running up the stairs, and a door slammed. Richie wondered whether or not to knock. He decided against it, and turned to leave.  
  
He'd barely taken a step when he heard more yelling. Mr. Webber was yelling at Mrs. Webber, and she was yelling back. Mr. Webber was saying something about a useless son. Richie felt a sudden rush of anger, and he wanted to go tell Mr. Webber off for speaking about Potsie that way. After all, even if he was ignoring Richie, he was still Richie's friend. He sighed and started to leave again, when he heard a click, and the sound of a window being opened. He turned around, but saw nothing out of the ordinary, until he looked at the side of the house. A dark figure was climbing out the window, reaching for the tree that was just to the right of the window. It jumped onto the tree and slid down the trunk, landing with a quiet thud. Of course, Richie knew it was Potsie, but he still wanted to make sure.  
  
"Potsie?" He whispered. The figure froze, then took a step towards Richie.  
  
"Richie? What the hell?"  
  
"I could ask the same thing!" Richie whispered, walking quietly over to his friend. "What are you doing, sneaking out?"  
  
"What does it look like? Of course I'm sneaking out!" Potsie walked to the sidewalk, passing Richie without a look. Suddenly he stopped. "Did you hear…?" He asked, turning around a little.  
  
Richie nodded slowly, looking at Potsie, illuminated only by the street light; the moon was nowhere in sight. Something caught his eye. "What's that?" He asked, walking towards Potsie.  
  
Potsie looked away. "Nothing… I…uh," Richie stood in front of him, his mouth hanging open.  
  
"That's a black eye!" Richie was sure of it. It was almost gone, but still visible.  
  
"Jeeze, Richie. I'd only been cleaning out my closet last Saturday and my baseball fell off the top shelf and hit me in the eye. Nothing big." Potsie explained quickly.  
  
Richie frowned. "You're lying." He said simply.  
  
Potsie turned angry. "What the fuck do you know, anyway?" He started walking away, but Richie wasn't discouraged.  
  
"Listen, Potsie, you can tell me. It's okay, I'm not gonna freak out." He bit his lip a little, hesitating. "Your Dad hit you, didn't he?"  
  
Potsie looked away, confirming Richie's accusation. Richie looked down, and Potsie spoke quietly.  
  
"He drinks too much sometimes, that's all…" He started walking again, and Richie caught up, walking alongside him. Richie wondered what to say.  
  
"Has he ever hit your mother?" He asked gingerly.  
  
"No, I wouldn't let him. That's why he-" Potsie stopped, as if he regretted his words. "Listen, Richie. You can't tell anyone, okay? Promise me." He stopped and looked at his friend.  
  
Richie was silent for a moment. "Alright, I promise."  
  
Potsie smiled a bit. "Thanks, Richie. I know I can always count on you."  
  
Richie felt relieved to see a smile on his friend's face. "Your welcome, Potsie, just don't ignore me anymore, alright? And come stay over on Wednesday, okay?"  
  
"Sorry about that… I just didn't want you to see me, you know, with this stupid thing… And yeah, I'll stay over." Potsie knew that his eye was only part of the reason he avoided his friends, but Richie seemed to accept his answer, and Potsie was at once grateful for Richie's naivety. He didn't know anything else about it, and as far as Potsie was concerned, Richie didn't need to.   
  
Richie glanced at his watch. "Listen, I can't be out long, so where are you gonna go?"  
  
Potsie bit his lip. "I hadn't really thought that far ahead."  
  
Richie frowned, then had an idea. "Well, you can't just wander the streets. Come to my house."  
  
"What? And let your family see my eye? Sorry, Ritchie, can't do that."  
  
"That's why you don't let them see it. You can just sneak in through my window later on."  
  
Potsie frowned. "Do you really think it will work?"  
  
Richie nodded, hoping that Potsie would accept his invitation. After all, his house was much safer than the streets. Potsie sighed, looking back at his house for a minute. He then turned back to Richie and shrugged.  
  
"Hell, might as well."  
  
Richie beamed.  
  
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Later on that night, with Potsie successfully concealed in his room, Richie thought about his promise as Potsie slept in a pair of pajamas that he had left there before. While Potsie slept like a baby, Richie lied awake, brooding.  
  
He regretted it, because he knew that if Mr. Webber was, in fact, hitting his family, that Richie needed to tell someone about it. He couldn't let his friend take that abuse. But he had promised Potsie. And Richie never broke his promises. Richie frowned, frustrated. He'd have to find some way to ask his dad or Fonzie for advice on this without actually telling them about it.  
  
Suddenly Potsie stirred, and Richie looked over at his friend. Potsie rolled onto his back and stretched out his arms. Richie blinked. What were those marks on his arm? Richie leaned over to get a better look and squinted in the darkness. His eyes widened. Those were cuts. Deep cuts. They didn't look like they happened on accident, either. Each one was the same length, size, and depth. There were about seven of them, all about a half inch apart.  
  
Was Potsie cutting himself?  
  
Richie frowned again. Maybe Potsie was worse off than he'd thought…  
  
---------endofchaptertwo----  
  
Author's Note: You know, I never really thought anyone would read this, so the nice reviews are greatly appreciated! They made my day. Your cookies are in your local Vons. Just take some and walk out, don't worry about paying. Heh.  
  
Sorry that took so long to get out. I've been very busy lately, busy enough to get myself sick. So while I stayed home with this stupid head cold, I decided to continue this. I haven't given up on this, so don't worry about that! I'm going to finish this, and I have a pretty good idea as to where the plot is going now.  
  
Thanks so much for the wonderful reviews, everyone! They keep me typing! And Potsie's my favorite character, too. You never see any dramas at all concerning him, he's basically ignored by the fanfiction.net writers. *glares* So I decided this wasn't good, and wrote my own. I'm sick of Joanie fanfics! Not that there's anything wrong with Joanie fanfics, it's just that there are way too many of them compared to Potsie fanfics. We need some Potsie. Woo, Potsie!  
  
And if anyone knows where the title comes from, I'll give you another cookie. Or something else. I'll think of something. I know where it comes from, I'm wondering if any of you do.  
  
Eh…If this came out weird, remember that I'm sick. And I've listened to the Mighty Mighty Bosstones too many times today.  
  
eh…**SUBLIMINAL MESSAGE: REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW**….heh.  
  
I'll just go now. 


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